


S1_Requiem_Alt+E

by MB234



Series: Your_Privacy_Has_Been_Delet3d.exe [2]
Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Broken Computer, Drugs, F/M, Reader-Insert, Smoking, Weed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:48:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MB234/pseuds/MB234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your piece of shit laptop breaks again, you take it to your neighbor, Elliot, for repairs. Somehow, weed gets involved, and suddenly everything changes. Namely those walls of personal space that Elliot so carefully erects come crashing down and suddenly you're standing between his outstretched legs, your lips mere inches from his, hot smoke filling your lips and desire curling in your belly.</p><p>Elliot Alderson makes you nervous, with his deep, steely eyes and lilting voice, but he also makes you feel at peace, comfortable. Your nerves are most definitely due to some feelings you may or may not have about him, but he doesn't need to know that, right?</p><p>Elliot x Female Reader. Part one of a two or more part imagine, comment if you like!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The_Usual_Problems.mp4

You desperately tried, and ultimately failed, not to hold your breath as you knocked quietly on Elliot’s faded red door, the laptop that you clutched in your sweating fingers, the reason for your visit tonight, proving to be a poor anchor for your suddenly sizzling nerves. His door was almost identical to yours, a dark crimson aperture that stood just a floor below, and you tried to use that fact to bolster your fretting senses. Beneath the bold black letters that spelled out his apartment number the carmine paint was starting to peel, flaking in small uneven patterns as though it were the bark of an ancient tree instead of some chemical compounds that had been slapped on the door of a shitty one bedroom in a bad neighborhood. You liked that old, faded look though. It was almost like the wood was trying to return to nature, back to the forest it’d lived in before it’d been chopped down and industrialized; turned into just another part of the system, another cog in the machine.

 

Only a few heartbeats had passed since your knock, but those moments had felt like millennia. You knew he was here; from your apartment a floor below you’d heard the slam of his door and the tread of his footsteps as he’d walked about. If you listened really hard you could hear the gentle pitter patter of Flipper’s paws as she trailed behind Elliot in his comings and goings. You considered knocking again but quickly dismissed the idea, knowing Elliot wouldn’t appreciate the excessive disturbance. He’d heard you; now you just had to wait.

 

For some reason, probably due to your not-so-subtle crush on him, Elliot made you a little nervous. Whenever you knocked on his door, those few moments you spent hovering in limbo as you awaited the inevitable always had your pulse pounding in your ears and your breath huffing out in small, nearly inaudible gasps. Once you were with him though, in his apartment, settled on his couch or in one of the chairs by his kitchen table, your heart rate would calm as you settled into a comfortable rhythm. But no matter what, those first few moments were always nerve wracking.

 

You knew that most people were disconcerted by Elliot’s characteristic silence, by his lack of social graces, but you actually found him incredibly refreshing. You immensely enjoyed the time you spent in his presence and respected how he didn’t feel the need to voice his every thought, though you did sometimes wonder if there were things that he kept from you.

 

Who were you kidding; this was Elliot you were talking about here, of course there were things that he kept from you. You suspected there were things that he kept even from himself.

 

You sighed heavily and had just begun to turn towards the staircase to return to your apartment, resigning yourself to the fact that he didn’t want company tonight, when that red door swung open. It was cracked wide enough to reveal the curve of one hoodie-clad shoulder and most of Elliot’s handsome face, including one of his steel cut cheekbones and the bow of his full lips. His blue-grey eyes glimmered in the dim light of the hallway, their color reminding you, as they always did, of some dusky storm ridden sea. A sea full of mystery; a churning deep that could pull you in and never release you. You could drown in those beautiful eyes, you realized.

 

“Hey,” you said, finding your voice after a slight pause, your tone almost a whisper, as if speaking too loud would frighten him away. You raised the broken laptop into his line of sight, offering it up like it was a platter of cocktails instead of a shitty Dell with a hard drive that wouldn’t cooperate. “Do you think you could help me out?”

 

_Again…_

 

The sentiment hung unspoken in the air, heavy and laden with supplicating invocation. Over the time you’d known him Elliot had become something of an impromptu repairman for you, his tech skills coming in incredibly handy when you were running short on money, and now you needed to call upon his aptitude once more.

 

His steely eyes were locked on yours as you spoke, thoughts and expressions swirling in their glinting depths, whirling mental objects and cognitions that you would love to be privy to, but never seemed to fully know. Still, you respected his space; you never pushed him to share, though sometimes you thought that maybe you should. Not tonight though, you sensed that he had had a long day and would not respond well if you did.

 

So you simply propped the laptop on your hip, nestled in the swell of your waist, and leaned against his doorframe, waiting. After a few long moments in which his eyes swept down your body with a strange heat that you’d never quite seen there before, he opened the door fully to allow you entry, and silently where it laid pounding in your chest, your heart soared.

 

“You’ve gotta get a new laptop,” Elliot said, the deep, level tones of his voice making something flutter, hot and urgent, deep in your belly, “This one’s a piece of shit.”

 

“I know,” you sighed as your sock-clad feet shuffled forwards and you delivered the laptop into Elliot’s hands, your body moving so close to his that you could feel the heat of it, tantalizing and forbidden, thrumming across your skin, “I would, but I’ve got no money.”

 

It was true; you worked wherever you could, a waitress job here, a bartender gig there, and you ran a small, lucrative side operation selling bud that got you enough cash to spend where you needed to, but really, you were in student debt up to your ears and sometimes you struggled just to buy groceries. You simply had no time or money to pursue your ambitions, namely in music. You had a fancy college degree that said you were qualified to work in the music industry, but you were saddled with too many loans and not enough important contacts to make a difference.

 

As you’d spoken a strange look had passed over Elliot’s face, a hardening around his eyes and the corners of his mouth that looked almost like anger, before his features slipped back into their familiar expression of equilibrium.

 

That was odd; you didn’t think you’d ever seen Elliot angry, even after living in the same building as him for years. You’d come to appreciate his steadfast sameness, his seemingly unfaltering air of abject disregard for what people’s opinions might be of him, and watching something crack that façade was jarring.

 

“Elliot, are you alright?” you asked as you moved closer to where he stood by the now closed door, careful to keep enough distance between you two so that the touch barrier wouldn’t be broken. His glinting cerulean eyes darted to the side, fixing unseeingly on the dirty dishes piled in the small sink as an expression of doubt colored his features, as if he himself wasn’t quite sure of the answer to your question. When his tongue darted out to dab at his bottom lip you couldn’t keep your eyes from locking on that alluring motion. You wondered suddenly what it would be like to feel those lips pressed against yours; would his kiss be hesitant and shy or would he surprise you with a hot, heavy passionate lust?

 

You indulged in a few moments of wanton imaginings before you shook yourself hard and refocused on the reality of the man before you that most _definitely_ didn’t want to kiss you. When your eyes met his again you realized that he was looking at you strangely, as if he could read your naughty thoughts, and your cheeks flushed hotly in response. The man who _probably_ didn’t want to kiss you….

 

His own eyes dipped to your lips, lingering heatedly before his deep, lilting voice broke the smoldering tension clouding the air in the room. “I’m good.”

 

He raised one large hand to ruffle the long hair that constantly threatened to tumble onto his forehead as he moved to his desk, gingerly taking a seat and setting your defunct laptop on his knees. You looked down at the floor in slight embarrassment, confused and intrigued by the molten arousal that had begun to fire through your veins, and were pleasantly startled to see Flipper’s shiny black eyes glinting up at you as she sat by your feet.

 

Your lips quirked into a delighted smile as you bent down and scooped up the adorable dog in the cradle of your arms, her warm little body settling perfectly against your chest. Her pink tongue peeked out from her seemingly smiling mouth as she panted, lolling her head back against your elbow. You cooed to her as you scratched her tummy and sat on the edge of Elliot’s bed, glad for the sudden distraction from the thrumming heat sparking between you and the hoodie-clad man seated in front of you.

 

“Flipper likes you,” Elliot commented after a few minutes of comfortable silence, his words sounding as he began to take apart your laptop, his statement surprising you, as it bordered on small talk. You glanced up from the black puppy that sat contented in your lap, wanting to see his expression as he spoke those unexpected words. Your heart twisted strangely in your chest when you saw a smile starting to curve Elliot’s lips, thinking that, while the expression seldom graced his face, his grin was _devastating._ You found yourself helpless not to smile back.

 

“That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t poop on my pillows,” you teased, incredulous that you were actually _flirting_ with Elliot. Impossibly, his smile widened.

 

“You know I really should pay you for this,” You insisted, wanting to compensate him for his tireless, if somewhat reluctant aid. He’d been a lifesaver, compensation seemed necessary here.

 

In response Elliot made a low nondescript noise in the back of his throat that had the tendons of his neck working in interesting, captivating ways, and moved his shoulders in what could be interpreted as a shrug, “I’m here to help.”

 

_Besides, this means less money to the government…_

 

The unspoken thought drifted through your mind; whether or not it was right was another matter. Since you’d befriended Elliot, if you and his relationship could be classified as a friendship – what with all the heated glances and almost touches you were experiencing – you’d taken to filling in the inevitable gaps that his lengthy silences created. The unspoken comments Elliot didn’t voice, most of them backed up by his body language, often had you smiling as you replied like he’d actually said them.

 

This time though, his voiced statement was clear, his tone decided and unwavering. Still, you stretched to reach into the back pocket of the boxer shorts you’d slipped on before you’d come over, vestiges of your pajamas due to the late hour, and fished out half of a joint. Flipper huffed and leapt indignantly from your lap as you shifted, your position tipping her unceremoniously from your lap, but finally you found the treasure you sought. The bud was excellent, taken from your own personal stash, guaranteed to give the smoker a perfect, lasting mental high. You yourself preferred mind highs to body highs, and you silently hoped Elliot was the same.

 

“Still,” you said, holding up your prize as though it were the Holy Grail, “I feel indebted. Share this with me, so that I don’t feel so guilty for taking advantage of your skills?”

 

At first you were sure that Elliot would decline; you’d noticed when the junkie bags that had constantly crowded the spaces above his cheekbones and under his eyes seemed to be suddenly absent, followed quickly by the disappearance of the drug dealer who used to live next to him, so logic would say that he’d been doing some intense drugs and had recently kicked the habit. Weed, however, was not heroin or whatever it was he’d been hooked on, and therefore you considered it a whole hell of a lot safer. Apparently Elliot did too.

 

You could tell the exact moment that he assented, because suddenly his eyes caught a glimmer that you’d never seen there before; a shine that excited you, a glint that revealed a whole new, somewhat devious side of Elliot. You grinned as he handed you a book of matches from a desk drawer, the brush of his fingers against yours setting your senses alight.

  
The harsh scrape and smolder of the joint as it was lit helped curb some of the desire that sat heavy in your body, but you knew, as you handed Elliot the bud, that it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

 

As you watched Elliot take a hearty drag off of the little bundle of weed, you quickly became mesmerized by the shape of his lips as they wrapped around the wrinkled paper, by the movement of his larynx as he inhaled, held and blew out thick clouds of smoke. The curves of his neck had you swallowing hard, arousal flooding low in your body as your senses were bombarded by the scents of fresh, burning bud and something that was all Elliot, all musk and clean, crisp soap.

 

His cerulean eyes met yours as he handed the joint back to you, his gaze lingering on you for long moments as you took your own hit, before he shifted his attention back onto the half dismantled laptop that still sat on his knees.

 

“Can you focus when you’re high?” you asked, suddenly curious as you twirled the blunt in your fingers. Another grin tugged at Elliot’s lips and you were momentarily floored by the fact tonight he’d smiled more than you’d ever witnessed.

 

“Actually, weed helps me concentrate. Compared to morphine, it’s like taking a five hour energy.”

 

You made a small noise of amused disbelief in the back of your throat, mentally cataloguing morphine as his poison of choice, and leaned onto your elbows to watch him work. Soon you became mesmerized by the small movements of the tendons in his wrists as his slender fingers unscrewed a panel here or popped open a hatch there.

 

When Elliot loaded your extracted hard drive into one of his pieces of tech, you took another drag off of the blunt and, unable to resist teasing him, rasped, “Are you sure you wanna delve into my hard drive, you might find my secret stash of porn.”

 

Elliot paused at that, those steely eyes that were now tinged with just a hint of red meeting yours with an express of want that shook you to your core. You’d never before thought of the things that turned Elliot on, if he himself indulged in pornography, but now you found yourself dying to know if the answer was yes.

 

“I’m kidding, all my dirty videos are on DVD anyway,” you joked, trying, and failing, to dispel the molten tension that passed between your heated glances.

 

Elliot looked away as if he knew that was a blatant lie and suddenly you gasped as the unmistakable truth dawned on your weed soaked mind. “You hacked me, didn’t you?”

 

Elliot’s eyes widened, his cerulean gaze glinting with just a hint of undisguised panic that had your stomach clenching in response, “I minored in computer tech in college, I can recognize serious hacker gear when I see it,” You explained, gesturing to the intense set up perched on his desk, “I’m not mad about it, I would hack people if I could,” you spoke hurriedly, trying to ensure that Elliot didn’t freak out, “But I am curious, what did you find?”

 

Elliot stared at you for several long, silent moments, his expression uncharacteristically open and incredulous, before he shifted in his seat to face your more fully, his slender fingers curling around your laptop nervously.

 

“You don’t have a Facebook, you deleted it a few years back, I suspect because you wanted privacy,” you nodded in confirmation, deeply impressed by his ability to read you, “You did a good job with it too, there are almost no traces of it left online. You have an email for business and a personal email, though the latter is mostly spam and updates about concerts from venues and halls. You have no other social media and your address was harder to find than most people’s, but your passwords are weak, you should change them.”

 

There was a pregnant span of silence as Elliot’s somewhat nervous words paused and he swallowed visibly, his eyes darting down the length of your body before they snapped back up to meet yours once more, “And as for the porn, you seem to like videos where the girl either gets eaten out or where the woman is shown cumming, making me think your current or past partners have been less than satisfactory.” You could’ve sworn a _blush_ graced Elliot’s lofty cheekbones as he continued, “You’ve also viewed a large number of BDSM videos, but whether or not you actually dabble in it, I don’t know.”

 

You exhaled a shaky breath, not so much surprised as you were aroused by his answer. As you silently stared at him, Elliot reached forward and plucked the burning joint from your fingers and took a sizable hit. The smoke that filtered through his parted lips had you mesmerized, your gaze intent on the unintelligible patterns that flitted through the air beneath his tempting mouth.

 

“Do you watch me touch myself to those videos?” You asked, your voice huskier than you’d ever heard it, your incredulous, logical brain unsure of exactly where that question had come from even as it burned for the answer.

 

Elliot looked nervous despite the desire pooling behind his eyes. You sensed a dangerous, barely corralled control thrumming through him, a need that skirted the edge of desperation that you were happily courting. His gaze was almost pleading as it met yours, and you realized he might be fighting an internal battle just confessing this to you.

 

“Yes,” he didn’t even sound apologetic, and you realized suddenly that you didn’t want him to be sorry, you wanted him to be out of his mind with desire, you wanted him to lose control.

 

“Did you like watching?” You husked, easing your thighs open imperceptibly as you spoke. Elliot’s hungry gaze darted to the strong, lithe muscles of your legs as you shifted, so you spread them more for him, now acutely aware of just how much skin your scanty shorts bared.

 

“Yes,” He said, his voice deeper, breathier than before. The joint that hung forgotten in his lax fingers was nearly burnt out, but Elliot didn’t seem to care.

 

You rose from your seat on the edge of his bed and moved carefully towards him, your movements slow and calculated, giving him enough time to stop your approach if he wished to. He didn’t, and somehow that simple fact mattered more than anything. When you stepped between his open knees, you leaned in experimentally, your heart pounding at finally being so damn close to him. You placed a hand on the arm rest of the chair he sat in, and with the other you gingerly plucked the joint from his relaxed grip, raising it to your lips and taking a hearty drag. You held the smoke between your lips as you moved in closer, your face mere inches from his.

 

_Fuck_ , he smelled good, crisp and clean, with just a hint of cigarettes and a not so subtle tinge of earthy weed. This close to him you could see the flecks of green and blue that spanned his irises, and suddenly you were struck by how soft his eyes were, how much emotion they held in their unknowable depths.

 

His breaths were coming in short, heavy rasps, his whole body strained, taught as a live wire. When you licked your lips he released a beautiful, wanting sound that thrummed deliciously over the pants of his breaths; a lovely, aroused moan that you’d never thought you’d hear spilling from his full lips. You smirked as you brought your mouth close to his, so near that you could almost feel the brush of his lips against yours. Slowly, measuredly, you released the pent up smoke captured between your lips as you breathed out your last question.

 

“Elliot,” Your voice was no more than a whisper, hot smoke curling around his parting lips as you spoke, “Do you want to watch me touch myself for you tonight?” You could sense his barely contained control flagging, his carefully erected walls crashing down. His single syllabled, breathy reply had your lips curling into a wanton smile, desire punching hotly through your veins as his answer registered with your smoke filled senses.

 

_“Yes.”_


	2. Hacker_Interupted.mpeg

_“Yes.”_

 

Elliot’s answer rang clear and crisp through your opiated mind as you stood between his spread legs, your faces so tantalizingly close that your lips nearly brushed his when he spoke. As much as you wanted to kiss him right then, to span the scant, tormenting distance between your lips, something told you that Elliot should be the one to initiate that intimacy, that he’d be most comfortable that way. So, after a few teasing moments, you ceded and stepped away from him, not wanting to push him too far, but undeniably reluctant to lose the delicious heat of his body. You sensed that this was new territory for him; being called out on his snooping and having it take an unexpected turn, and in a way it was similar for you as well. You reveled in the welcome novelty that lay banked in the stunning, unexpected sensations of his blistering warmth, his near touch, so tantalizing and forbidden. You knew you had to step carefully here.

 

 

His eyes were intent on you, watching your every move, something dark and lusty glinting in those churning depths. You were surprised by how aroused you’d gotten just from the heat of his gaze, from the intense weightiness of it. You found yourself falling under the spell of those deep, smoky eyes as you slowly perched back onto his bed, your body facing him.

 

 

Carefully, with intent, you ease your legs open once more, your fingers imperceptibly stroking the soft skin of your thighs as you spoke, “When you watch me touch myself, do you like it better when I’m on my back, or on my front?”

 

 

Elliot’s eyes widened impossibly, a molten craving, a wanton hunger flaring hotly to life in those depths, before he swallowed hard and shifted slightly in his seat, his fidgeting no doubt due to the physical manifestations his own growing desires.

 

 

“Back,” he husked as his eyes traveled down the length of your body, the effect as potent as if it were a caress of his hands instead of just his smoldering gaze. When his eyes fixed on the full globes of your breasts, his stare intent, as if he could will your clothes off of you, you realized that he probably preferred this position because of the view it provided him of your body. Your lips quirked as your fingers drifted to the hem of your loose tank top, your deft digits fiddling with the fabric, easing it higher and higher up your stomach.

 

 

“Because you like to see me?” You questioned, already knowing the answer but still wanting to hear it fall, hot and needy, from his lips. Elliot nodded, his reverent gaze fixed to where your fingers splayed just under your breasts, your tank top riding up so high that it nearly exposed the lacy material of your bra. His hands were clenching the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white.

 

  
Honestly, you would’ve settled for just his silent affirmation, the knowledge that he  _liked_  watching you was doing wonders for both your ego and your burgeoning arousal, but the delight that fired through you at his assent, however nonverbal, must’ve shown in your eyes, in the upturn of your mouth into a grin, because the next thing you knew Elliot was speaking. It was as if a dam had broken, a mighty fortress had fallen, and suddenly you were privy to his internal musings, to the elusive, tempting machinations of his mind.

 

 

“I like to see all of you,” Elliot said, his tone somewhat dazed, words tumbling from his parted lips as if he couldn’t stop them, “I like to watch your body tense and your thighs clench, your head fall back and your toes curl. I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you are when you touch yourself. Your unassuming abandon, your naked need, are utterly captivating. They’re pure in a way that I can’t describe. They’re perfect. You,” He paused slightly at that, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, all of his earnest, uncontrollable want spilling into his gaze, making your heart sputter in your chest, “Are perfect.”

 

 

His words had you gasping his name, delighted surprise and hot, heavy desire curling in your chest as his impassioned, sincere, lust-tinged words registered with your drug addled, arousal soaked mind. Obviously Elliot had watched you more than once, possibly regularly, if he had things that he liked, things that he’d thought about and catalogued in his mind.  _Fuck_ , that was hot; the thought of Elliot sitting there every time you masturbated, lazily pumping his hard cock to the sight of you touching yourself just a floor below him, hoping you’d moan, that your thighs would clench, sent your arousal skyrocketing. You tried to remember the last time you’d been this turned on but you came up totally blank.

 

 

Spurned by his honest revelation, by his sweet, wholehearted sentiment, you stripped the tank top unceremoniously from your body and threw it heedlessly to the ground, loving the captivated gleam in his eyes as they devoured your exposed flesh. As you eagerly slipped your boxer shorts down your legs, you silently thanked any god that was listening that you’d both worn nice undies tonight and had shaved  _everything_  in the shower just this morning.

 

 

A beautiful, broken moan tumbled from Elliot’s lips at the sight of you in just your lacy panties and bra, your thighs spread tantalizingly and your breasts heaving with your raspy, ragged breaths.

 

 

“Is the view better in person?” You asked huskily as you leaned back on your elbows, your fingers skimming lazily over the lace that spanned the low slung waistband of your panties. You _loved_  the way that Elliot’s eyes followed the movement of your digits like a cat would watch a fish in a bowl; hungry and  _wanting._

 

“It’s incomparable,” Elliot rumbled in reply, his tone laced with a desire, a reverence and an honesty that rocked you to your very core. You could sense that wall that had crumbled within him, the barrier that he usually so reverently, carefully maintained between him and the rest of the world that had come crashing down. It was as if he was suddenly readable, stark and present here with you. It was a side of Elliot that you’d always caught teasing glimpses of in the past, but now was laid bare before your eyes.

 

 

And you were having a very hard time looking away.

 

 

“Tell me, Elliot,” you purred as your fingers dipped beneath the lace of your soaked panties, moving slowly, unmistakable towards their intended destination, “What do you like better; me touching myself for you in sexy panties, or wearing nothing at all?” When your fingers brushed the throbbing flesh of your sex you were slightly surprised by how wet you’d gotten. But then again, if Elliot kept devouring you with that intense, lusty gaze of his, it’d be no surprise when you turned into a molten puddle of want on his stained, hardwood floor.

 

 

One swirl of your fingers around your clit had your head falling back and your thighs easing open, all thought of his answer to your question promptly deserting your mind. You flicked that sensitive nub of nerves again, harder this time, and couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your lips as pleasure speared, hot and searing, through your veins.

 

 

“Fuck,” Elliot grated as he watched you, his husky curse making your eyes snap back to him. He was watching you intently, the heel of one hand pressing hard into his lap, against the throbbing steel of his hard cock, while the other held onto the arm of his chair as if for dear life. You gasped, fresh arousal spearing through you, as you beheld the undeniable evidence that this elusive, captivating enigma of a man was indeed a man, with wants and desires, with lusts for  _you._

 

“Elliot,” you gasped, your head falling back once more beneath the fierce onslaught of pleasure from your stroking fingers. Everything was magnified in the wanton heat of Elliot’s gaze, every light, teasing brush, every determined stroke of your fingers ten times more powerful, because of  _him_.

 

 

“I love when you touch yourself like this,” Elliot’s husky voice filtered through the cannabis and arousal tinged haze that clouded your mind, those low, thrumming tones of his silky voice enthralling your attention. Your eyes slid closed as you basked in the pure carnal, masculine timbre of Elliot’s voice, usually so sporadic a thing to hear, that thrummed low and insistent across your skin. “I can tell when you start to lose control, when the pleasure becomes too much and you have no choice but to give in.” As if on cue, a throaty moan slipped from your lips and your hips bucked up sharply, seeking more friction, more fullness, more  _anything_.

 

 

“It usually takes you a while to get there, you go through multiple videos before you reach that point,”  _Fuck_ , he really had been watching you often. The wet flesh of your spread sex pulsed beneath your fingers as you moaned at that thought and harshened your touch in response, thrumming your fingers against your sex insistently, but your orgasm remained elusive to you.

 

 

“I can help you find relief,” Elliot breathed, his voice sounding from a different place, lower almost, as if he’d moved positions in the room, “Find release.”

 

 

You froze when you felt the unmistakable rasp of his breath skittering across the sensitive skin of your thighs, tantalizing and so tempting that you dare not believe your suspicions. “May I?”

 

  
Your eyes flew open, your mind disbelieving of the sight it was taking in, and yet there it was nonetheless. Elliot was kneeling between your spread legs, his pupils blown wide with lust, his lips parted in want as he rasped in heavy breaths, his wide, stormy eyes intent on you.

 

 

“Elliot,” his name fell, broken and pleading, from your lips as you gazed at him, caught in his molten stare, helpless to do anything but tremble, a beg on the tip of your tongue even as you said, "You don't have to..." you trailed off as his mouth drew closer to your heated sex, his destination clear and unmistakable.

 

 

"I want to help," he said, lifting one hoodie-clad clad shoulder in a small shrug that made your heart twist wildly in your chest, "Besides," he continued as he reached for you, his tone softening, as if he was speaking almost to himself, "I've dreamed of tasting you."

 

  
You swore you fucking  _shivered_  when you felt the brush of Elliot’s fingers against the too-sensitive flesh of your thighs. This the first skin to skin contact you’d ever experienced with him, and it was while you were halfway to orgasm, throbbing wildly and shaking beneath his touch. As the soft, worn material of his hoodie slid against the exposed skin of your thighs, the eroticism, the sensuality of his completely dressed form juxtaposed with your wantonly nude one was not lost on you. In fact, it only seemed to heighten your desire.

 

 

And _Jesus_ , did he know what he was doing. His fingers expertly tripped up the lean lines of your upper thigh, tracing the curve of your panties before dipping to join your own digits that lay frozen against your sex. He glanced up at you then, a slight smirk curving his delicious lips, as if he knew he was the reason you were dripping with lust, before he gently brought his mouth to your pulsing pussy.

 

 

You moved your hand away immediately, bringing it up to join your other above your head as you tilted your hips in a silent imploration of submission. In that moment, as Elliot’s hot breath fanned across your sex, one decidedly brawny arm curled around your thigh to hold your legs open, exposed, his lips nearly brushing your wet flesh while his fingers pulled aside the sodden material of your panties, you’d have given him anything he asked for.

 

 

Thankfully he just delved into your weeping folds, his tongue immediately seeking the tight bud of nerves at the apex of your womanhood, his deft, slender digits playing teasingly at your seeking entrance. You were about to rasp in a breath to beg him to slide those long, lithe fingers deep into your clenching heat when suddenly he plunged one appendage inside you, holding it there as his tongue lapped feverishly at your clit.

 

 

You moaned wantonly, writhing against the surprisingly strong bands of his arms as his hot, punishing tongue lashed out to flick your clit again and again. When he began to move his finger inside of you, the friction so blessed and unbearable, you couldn’t hold back your heated beg for more, for him.

 

 

Admittedly, it’d been a while since you last intimacy, but you wanted Elliot, all of him, tonight.

 

 

When finally, thankfully, he assented, plunging not two, but three digits into your tight, trembling sheath, you cried out his name, writhing under his seeking touch and flaming, flicking tongue. Pleasure filled your senses, hot, fiery bliss that was almost too much to bear, but still Elliot expertly worked your quickening sex.

 

 

Your fingers were hovering above your breasts, barely thrumming your hard nipples, when Elliot’s deep, lilting voice startled you, “I know you like to play with your breasts while you touch yourself,” he said, those smoky, intense eyes capturing your gaze, “Go ahead, I would really like to see you touch them in person.”

 

 

Moaning, absolutely lost in searing, wanton pleasure, you gave in, all but tearing the soft, lacy fabric of your bra aside to bear the flesh of your breasts, your hungry fingers immediately finding the rock hard peaks of your nipples.

 

 

“That’s it,” Elliot rumbled against your sensitive flesh, his hot breath searing against your sex, “Just like that.”

 

 

“You like seeing me touch them?” You questioned, out of your mind with desire for him as his slender fingers continued to pound your aching pussy, “Fuck, Elliot!” You cried out as he lapped at your sex again, giving you no reprieve before he began quick unwavering flicks of his deft tongue.

 

 

You took that as a vehement yes.

 

“Elliot,” You moaned, writhing in his arms, “I’m g-gonna cum…" You groaned as his fingers plunged impossibly faster, the delicious, molten friction they caused searing you down to your very bones. Somehow, that wonderful pulsing against your clit didn’t cease, even as he replied, his voice low and lilting, “Cum for me.”

 

 

Three simple words, three syllables, and the sight of his eyes locked on you as his tongue flicked dizzyingly fast over your clit, and you were cumming, clenching wetly around his fingers, bucking up against his seeking mouth. You moaned, whining as you rocked wantonly into his molten touch, fucking your clamping sex deeper onto his fingers, loving the constant, perfect motions of his teasing mouth that guided you so perfectly through your hot, throbbing orgasm.

 

 

“Elliot,” you moaned, your voice husky from your near constant cries and beggings, as your whole body clenched, the fiery pleasure that flooded your body just beginning to abate as he pressed one last, languid kiss to your trembling thighs. You panted as you drew your hands up over your head, winding your body into a full stretch that had your toes curling in pure contentment.

 

 

“That’s better in person too,” Elliot rumbled, an almost grin curling his lips as he began to crawl onto the bed beside you, pulling your arching body closer, his hands hot and determined as they skimmed across your skin. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, his hands on you. Now that the touch barrier had been broken you found that his fingers fit perfectly in the dips of your waist, on the swells of your hips and the hollows of your collar bones.

 

 

You smiled, laughter bubbling from your lips at the undeniably proud, pleased expression on his handsome face as you slid to your knees to meet him where he knelt beside you. Your body was relaxed and pliant he pulled you into his arms, onto his lap.

 

 

“May I?”

 

 

It was your turn to ask as you fingered the collar of his hoodie, peeling it back slightly from his chest, a gentle invocation. Elliot’s eyes met yours, something molten and unbearably earnest thrumming in those steely depths, before he nodded, glancing down as if slightly embarrassed. Nearly giddy with excitement, pleasure flooding low in your belly at his consent, your body still pounding from the effects of the toe curling orgasm he’d just bestowed upon you, you slowly slipped the hoodie from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed with a soft _whomp_.

 

 

As you gingerly pulled the faded black t shirt he wore under the hoodie from his upper body, Elliot reached his arms up to aid your disrobement of him, his eyes fixed anywhere but on you. You were slightly surprised by the quiet strength that roiled in the toned muscles of his chest and arms, their power tenacious and present, but unassuming, much like the man himself. He was beautiful, you realized as you skimmed your fingers, feather light, over his chest and down between his pectoral muscles. He was beautiful, and he didn’t even know it.

 

 

“Elliot,” you whispered, wanting to see his eyes, but afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile magic that had settled over the two of you. His fingers that were curled around your hip traced gently up the curves of your waist and smooth lines of your shoulder before moving to twine around your nape, holding you there as he met your gaze. His touch was fervent, impassioned, as if he was afraid you’d disappear in the blink of an eye, as if he desperately needed tangible proof that you were real, here with him.

 

 

You realized with a start that you hadn’t even kissed him yet. He’d used that wicked, sinful mouth on you, with dazzling results, and you hadn’t even felt his lips on yours. Intent on rectifying that immediately, you leaned into him, basking in the clean, masculine scent that was all Elliot.

 

 

When your lips were mere inches from his you stopped, pausing to gauge his mood, giving him an opportunity to move away, to reject you. Instead, his fingers just tightened on your neck, flexing imperceptibly, his eyes darting between your gaze and your lips, his expression hungry and wanting.

 

 

“I’ve thought about kissing you so many times,” Elliot husked, the deep, swirling celadon of his eyes glinting ardently in the dim light of his bedroom, “But I never thought I’d actually be here, doing it.”

 

 

“Me too,” You replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “Elliot, please-“ you didn’t even have to finish your plea before, somehow, suddenly, his lips were on yours, moving languidly, passionately, in the most heated of kisses. You whimpered in response, fresh arousal curling in your belly as you twined your arms around his neck, pressing your body urgently into his, clenching your thighs around his where you sat perched in his lap.

 

 

Not surprisingly, after the many expert displays you’d witnessed from him tonight, Elliot was an excellent kisser. You attributed a healthy measure of that to his utter attentiveness, to his constant alertness to your little moans and the small bucks of your hips when he nibbled at your bottom lip, to your gasps when he flicked his tongue seekingly at the seam of your lips.  He could sense what you needed, and gave in kind. _Damn_ , you could kiss Elliot for hours, and die a happy woman.

 

 

Your lips still locked, you reached between your writhing bodies and deftly undid the zipper of his jeans, your fiery lust and fervent aching for him hurrying your actions. As soon as you had access, you carefully drew the hard, throbbing steel of his cock into your waiting palm, loving the low, thrumming moans that hummed in the back of his throat in response.

 

 

Not wanting to wait any longer, eager to feel him, huge and hot, inside of you, you shifted on his lap so that he was positioned at your entrance, the very tip of his pulsing shaft just barely meeting your wet sex. Only then did you break your molten kiss, both of your chests heaving as you gasped in desperate, lust-soaked breaths.

 

 

“Elliot,” you rasped, the heady combination of the delicious high you were feeling from the weed, the lovely heat that sparked from where your skin brushed against his, and the unrestricted, earnest way that his eyes were devouring your gaze coloring the break of your voice, “Please…”

 

 

You gasped when he leaned forwards and captured your lips in his of his own accord, his hands moving to sit firmly on your hips, his fingers flexing as he prepared to pull you slowly, blissfully down onto his waiting cock.

 

 

The harsh, intrusive knock at the door that jarred both you and Elliot not even a heartbeat later was the very last thing you expected to hear. Both of you froze, your gazes locking. You noted the small measure of panic and the healthy dose of chagrin that colored Elliot’s expression as his brow furrowed and he listened, his pulse pounding beneath your palms where they lay against him.

 

 

Once more than loud rapping sounded, and your annoyance flared that the hollow bumps were echoing throughout the small apartment instead of more of Elliot’s low, breathy moans that you liked so much.

 

 

“Should you get that?” You asked in whisper, fervently hoping he’d say no. You heart soared when, after a few long moments, he shook his head and moved to capture your lips again. But before you could sufficiently continue, another knock rang out, the deafening bangs on the door more insistent, and this time accompanied by a distinctly female voice.

 

“I know you’re here. Let me in dickhead, or I’ll break your fucking lock again.”

 

 

“Shit,” Elliot cursed under his breath, his hands tightening reflexively against the skin of your hips, his voice nearly a growl as he rapsed, “Darlene.”

 

 

_Who the fuck is Darlene?_

 

 

Hurt and shock spilled into your chest, immediately dousing the fiery arousal that had been burning there all night. Numbness creeping into your limbs, your heart wrenching in your chest, you quickly slipped off of Elliot’s lap and hastily began a rather fruitless search for your discarded clothes. Cursing when you couldn’t find anything, not even a scrap of your shirt, more hurt and annoyed by the second, you were surprised to turn and see Elliot gingerly holding one of his shirts for you to slip on in an outstretched hand. You didn’t’ bother to hide the pain in your eyes as you met his gaze, somewhat placated to see that he was equally displeased by the interruption.

 

 

“Just give me a second,” Elliot said, his tone low and imploringly as you reached out and pulled on the faded t shirt, “I’ll get rid of her, I promise.”

 

 

Slightly disbelieving, you simply nodded, leaving him to his unwelcome visitor as you continued your search for your shorts. With your back to the door you only caught snippets of the angry, hushed exchange, but as it continued you realized two things.

 

 

Firstly, whoever this chick was, she obviously knew Elliot in way that went beyond mere acquaintances; in fact she talked to him more like a disgruntled sibling than spurned lover. That did help to calm some of the anger roiling in your chest, though your hopefulness for picking up where you’d left off dwindled as their conversation wore on.

 

 

Secondly, when Elliot turned back to you from the door, judging by the expression on his face, you suddenly knew that your long awaited night together was effectively over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is guys! Chapter 2, for your viewing pleasure :) I know you might hate me for ending on a little bit of a cliffhanger, but I really wanted to extend this ficlet due to the INCREDIBLE amount of support I've received! Thank you all so much for that! And thank you for reading, let me know your feedback, reading your comments make my day :)
> 
>  
> 
> On a side note, I need your help and expert opinions; I really wanna write some of the next chapter from Elliot's point of view, is this a good idea or not? 
> 
> Also, should I make a mood board for this chapter? I have a few great images I've found, but I'm not sure they're super popular. They help me visual the chapters, but they are not for everyone, I totally get it!
> 
> MOOD BOARD!: http://imagines-oneshots-blog.tumblr.com/post/152025589809/s1requiemalt-e-chapter-2


	3. No_Place_Like_Home.vcr

“Dude you smell like pussy.”

 

Darlene drawled with a scowl tugging at the corners of her perpetually pouting lips as she tossed Elliot a piece of gum, Hubba Bubba judging by the bright yellow script etched onto the glinting wrapper. He caught it easily, grimacing as he glanced down at the small pink packet balanced in his palm.

 

“You know this is nothing but sugar and chemicals, right?” He protested even as he unwrapped it, his voice lacking the conviction that would hammer the statement home. His fingers were slow, hesitant, dissenting as if they lamented their abrupt change of scenery; as if they longed to keep tracing the soft swells and gentle dips of your curves instead of unfolding rigid, technicolor tin foil.

_You and me both, homies, you and me both…_

 

“Tough fucking luck,” Darlene quipped, her clipped words an unintentional reply to his internal musings as she took the stairs down to the subway platform that would take them to Coney Island, to fsociety, two at a time, the chestnut hair that lay piled into a haphazard bun atop her head bouncing absurdly with each step, “It’s still better than vagina breath.”

 

It was his turn to scowl at those crude words, still not able, despite his earnest attempts, to dredge up even a shred of remorse despite the obvious distaste written all over Darlene’s face. The truth of it was that he wasn’t sorry, not for any of it. He wasn’t sorry for hacking you, though that wasn’t a particularly novel revelation, he hacked everyone, no matter his intentions or interest in them. More pertinently he wasn’t sorry that you had called him out, he wasn’t sorry that you’d kissed him – or had _he_ been the one to span that scant, thrumming distance between your lips and finally give you both what you’d been waiting, hoping for- and he sure as shit wasn’t apologizing for making you cum so spectacularly just from the wet slide of his determined tongue and thick press of his fingers.

 

Though what he really wasn’t properly apologetic for, when he probably should be, was watching you.

 

As he and Darleen hopped on the Q and started towards Coney Island, Darlene began to prattle on about frozen yogurt and the magic of sprinkles and some other bullshit he couldn’t care less about and somewhere in the middle of her mindless chatter Elliot found himself craving the simple comfort of your presence. Not even the intimate stuff, although having your warm, pliant body pressed against his had easily been one of the highlights of his existence, but truly just the small things about you.

 

Within the first few weeks that you’d moved in below him he’d shamelessly succumbed to his burgeoning curiosity about you and hacked into your webcam, watching you with a ravenous inquisitiveness as you meandered about your apartment; watering the dying plants you’d hung right beside your windows in an admittedly futile attempt to nurse them back to vigor, feeding your rapidly fattening bunny, folding freshly washed clothes or cooking meals. As you worked you often hummed or sang softly to yourself, and Elliot soon discovered that he found immense, unexpected comfort in the peaceful monotony of your life, in the simple housekeeping tasks you’d perform, your gentle lilting voice serving as a balm to his unsettling anxiety and ever growing guilt.

 

But even better than just pretty, you were _captivating._ When you conversed you didn’t feel the need to fill every silence, to suffocate every lengthy, pregnant pause with meaningless words. You let him revel in his thoughts, and sometimes you even seemed to be able to read them. You were remarkable and elusive and undeniably sexy. That dangerous combination had your face flitting through Elliot’s mind at rather inopportune times, like in the middle of one of Gideon’s dull, monotonous meetings, or more precariously, while he was with fsociety.

 

Really though, at the heart of it, his interest in you actually was more than just your beautiful face and penchant for comfortable silences. Despite the way he’d scoured over your emails and pics, even when he’d watched you from your webcam, your bugs, your internal programming, still remained elusive to him.  That yawning unknown taunted him, pricking incessantly at his mind and coiling tightly around his chest, spurring him into exploratory action.

 

On the outside you were just like anyone else; socially blessed and charmingly charismatic with just the right hint of mystery; the perfectly selected pieces that, when assembled, formed a functioning member of society. But when you were by yourself your inner machinations began to show. Elliot had watched you ignore calls in favor of just one more page of whatever book you were currently engrossed in. He had watched you twist and turn in fitful nightmares; those dark dreams culminating in you jolting awake, drenched in sweat and shaking. He had seen you contemplate calling in sick for work, most likely because you hated the way that your bartenders uniform made you feel like a piece of meat, a trophy on sale for the highest tipper.

 

He had even watched you cry sometimes, wishing fervently that he was braver, that he could muster up the courage to knock on your door and tell you that he cried too, that he understood. Occasionally, okay frequently, he let himself imagine what you’d do if he actually did just that, acted on his feelings and reached out, though no matter how strong his intentions were inevitably those daydreams would always remain firmly in his head, where both he and they could remain safe. He wasn’t sure exactly why you cried, whether it was from loneliness or loss or rejection, but the why wasn’t as important as how much he ached to connect with you, to show you that you weren’t alone in your pain.

 

Maybe he should comfort you next time, maybe your reaction wouldn’t be disgust or denial. After all, you constantly surprised him, your actions unpredictably running against every modicum of learned behavior society was supposed to instill in you. You were an enigma, a slowly winding perplexity in the constant of his life, and he found himself drawn to you because of it.

 

He dreamed of saving the world, but sometimes he thought he could do with just saving you. And he suspected that it would be more than enough.

 

* * *

 

 

“You, good sir, look like you very recently got a little action.”

Mr. Robot boomed precociously as he leaned against the table Elliot was hunched over, peering invasively over his shoulder at the code he was attempting to finish. Since he and Darlene had gotten here Elliot had worked like a madman to fix the last of the programming that he’d been fetched to complete. Apparently his team members had needed a fresh pair of eyes and a clear head to flesh out this particular line of code; the insufficiency was evident as Elliot peered around the room. Romero sat with his eyes closed in the corner, leisurely dragging on what was clearly a poorly concealed spliff that hung lax from his lips, puffing out thick clouds of smoke at steady intervals as he inhaled like he was sucking on a respirator. Trenton was nowhere to be found and Mobley was passed out in the corner, the remnants of his fast food feast splayed haphazardly by his feet.

 

Sometimes he wondered how they kept it together without him.

 

He chanced a sideways glance at the obnoxious older man, bedecked in his ratty ball cap and frayed jacket, wondering somewhat invidiously how the hell he’d known that Elliot’s thoughts had drifting inevitably to you, to your impossibly soft skin and breathy kisses, “It’s written all over your face, loverboy. You’re looking decidedly more pinched than usual.” He leaned in, peering at Elliot over the bridge of his dark rimmed glasses, his eyes glinting mischievously, “Got a bad case of the blue balls there, ace?”

 

Elliot clenched his jaw to stop from snapping at the man, working hard to make his features blank, unreadable, no matter how much Mr. Robot goaded him. There was absolutely no need to make your presence, your importance in his life, known to Mr.Robot. In fact, Elliot would greatly prefer it if the enigmatic leader had no knowledge whatsoever of your existence. For some reason the thought of you and Mr. Robot interacting made Elliot’s stomach turn.

 

“I hope she was hot,” Robot continued, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth and chewing obscenely as he prattled on, “You can’t be lowering your standards for any old fours or fives. It’s sevens and up only for you, my friend. Though you won’t be getting any continual action if you just sit in here all night. You know, objects in motion and all that.” He said, clapping an unwelcome hand onto Elliot’s shoulder before wandering to a chair to flip idly through the pages of some random tech manual.

 

 _Fuck_ , how long _had_ he been here?

 

Glancing at the clock, and feeling a tendril of panic tinged annoyance bloom in his chest, Elliot realized it had been almost five goddamn hours since he’d stepped into the neon bedecked room and gotten lost in the simple, comfortable pattern of coding.

 

_Like entering a bad K hole you won’t come out of…_

Elliot was quickly discovering that that sentiment applied to more than just Darlene and her sharp tongue. Though, blessedly, without Mr. Robot’s cloying, claustrophobic presence Elliot worked quickly, applying the finishing touches on the program and rising to leave with a renew fervor that had him scraping his chair back with blatant disregard to the multiple dozing individuals in the room.

 

“Good work kiddo,” Mr. Robot yelled from his perch behind the counter, not even raising his eyes from the page as Elliot began to exit the suddenly too-bright room. Somehow, despite the constant, lilting air of sarcasm that lay perpetually banked in his tone, Elliot knew that the man meant it. “See you soon.”

 

Elliot chose to ignore the slight anxious pang that rang through him at those parting words, and, hoping to banish that strange chill it left in its wake, raised his hood atop his head and strode out the door, noting with an internal smirk where Darlene had fallen asleep on one of the skee ball tables. He decided not to disturb her, she’d had dark bags crowding the spaces beneath her eyes today anyway, instead focusing on getting back to his place, and hopefully back to you.

 

In all honesty he fully expected you to be gone by the time he eased open the door to his apartment; truthfully he wouldn’t even have been all that surprised if you’d just vanished like you’d never been, if the night had turned out to be a fading figment of his broken imagination, a delicate fragile dream disintegrating breathtakingly in the harsh light of day that had just begun to creep across the faded floor.

 

But, impossibly, there you were, your loose hair swept over one slim shoulder, cascading down the curve of your arm, your legs curled up under you as you sat on the couch by the cracked open window, Flipper dozing happily in your lap as you nursed the very last dregs of the joint that you had shared with him earlier that night. The thick, pungent smoke danced against your lips in a way that had him itching to replace that feeble roll of paper and leaves with his own hungry mouth. He could do a better job caressing your lips, skating across your skin, he was sure of it. He _needed_ it.

 

Your soft, supple form was swallowed by one of his dress shirts, the fabric lounging on your body like it was meant to be there, and Elliot couldn’t deny that some part of him was glad you were wearing it. In some strange, unexplainable way he felt it would be easier donning the stiff material knowing it had been so close to your skin. That made it seem friendlier somehow. Safer.

 

As he gently closed the door you turned to him, a heartbreaking smile forming on your lips as you flicked the dregs of the joint onto his coffee table and rose, meeting him halfway across the room.

 

“You’re home,” You rasped, your voice husky from something that seemed like a combination of sleep and smoke and innumerable sultry pleadings murmured a handful of hours ago.

 

 _Home._ That word seared into his brain like a too-bright monitor that flipped on in the middle of the night. Unexpected, undeniable and impossible to ignore, but a little warm and magnetic too.

 

“Yeah,” He said, speaking as if to justify his breach of the touch barrier between you, his hand raising of its own accord to trace the gentle curve of your collar bone. He couldn’t deny that he loved the way your skin leapt at his touch, as if it were rejoicing in the reunion with an old friend. Or a new lover.

 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” You said, your tone laced with a thick overtone of jovialness and a much more subtle tinge of seriousness. You worried your bottom lip hard as you gazed up at him through your lashes, not waiting for an answer as much as you were absorbing, soaking him in. He found he wasn’t uncomfortable with your scrutiny.

 

“I’ll always come back to you,” Elliot replied, a sureness to his voice that he hadn’t anticipated, but that felt blatantly right slipping from his lips. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was sure it was true. Maybe it was because you smelled like roses, like warm rich earth, and tasted like peppermint and lazy Sundays  and called his name in a way that had his stomach flipping like a million butterflies were trapped in there, trying to get free, like those three meager syllables had always lay dormant on your lips until they exploded out with new, glorious meaning intoned in them, but whatever it was he knew that he would come back, and he could only hope that you were here when he did return, as he inevitably would, to you. To his neighbor turned friend turned lover. To his _home._

 

 _And_ , he thought wryly as he bent to capture your smiling lips in his, _there really is no place like home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know this chapter is a long time coming, but hopefully it's arrival makes up for it's absence :) I have one (or so) more chapter planned for this story and there will be major smut involved, so stay tuned for that! Thank you guys so much for your continual and AMAZING support, please let me know your thoughts on this, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!! 
> 
> Mood Boards! Because I love love love them!
> 
> Chapter 2: HERE! http://imagines-oneshots-blog.tumblr.com/post/152025589809/s1requiemalt-e-chapter-2
> 
> Chapter 3: http://imagines-oneshots-blog.tumblr.com/post/151364086034/s1requiemalt-e-chapter-3-dude-you-smell-like
> 
> P.S. As I was writing I got the idea to make a series of unrelated but all Elliot x Reader stories because as I was writing I kept coming up with little plots that had nothing to do with this ficlet, like the reader is a friend of Darlene's and they party together and get crazy and what would happen if that reader and Elliot met, that kept getting little paragraphs as I went along so I thought, why not expand on that. What are your thoughts, would you guys read that if I made this fic a part of a bigger series? Let me know what you think and thank you again!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey readers! This is the first chapter of a story that I hope to make into two (or more) parts, depending on what you guys think of it! If you enjoyed please let me know, if you saw any out of character moments PLEASE tell me, this was my first shot at a Mr. Robot fic, so please be gentle with me :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> I like to make mood board for all the stories I write, you can find them all listed on my profile, but here's the link to the one I made for this chapter!
> 
> http://imagines-oneshots-blog.tumblr.com/post/148100807114/you-desperately-tried-and-ultimately-failed-not


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